"Thank you! It was only---"
"You look like a slut."
Thank YOU for that comment! I really didn't need your pennies.
We both know I heard what she said. I was trying to give the Abercrombie Zombie a second chance.
"Little hooker, ain't ya?"
Little bitch, ain't ya?
"I am a Little Hooker! How did you know?"
"My mom's a Big Hooker."
"New? Yeah it's only my first year. It's funny though, clients seem to pop up all over the place! I guess some people really like sex!"
"I wasn't being ser---"
"Like, really like it."
"I didn't mean---"
"I can't tell if you're joking or not."
"Oh trust me, I wouldn't joke about the family business. My dad is our pimp. He was inspired in college when the song "Roxanne" was popular. He heard it and just knew he should start a family and make them all hookers!"
"My little brother is supposed to take over as Head Pimp when he turns 15, but I really think he could make it as a gigolo. He's got good genes."
"I have to go find my friend now..."
"Is he male by any chance? Business has been really slow tonight."
Don't tell me I look like a hooker. Not that I have anything against them. Do what you want with your body, I'm just saying a black dress with red heels is called chic. Stylish. Pretty. NOT Pretty Woman. Let's have a peek at your outfit, shall we? Mini-skirt and tee that seems to scream, "DON'T YOU JUST LOVE MY MIDRIFF?!" Okaaaayyy... You're showing more skin than Kathy Bates in that one movie with the hot tub. You know the one. Wait, you want to rent it? Perv! Gross! I'm not promoting such nudity! ("About Schmidt" is the title and it's available at Blockbuster.) And have you ever SEEN a hooker walk the streets? And if you have would you want to admit you were in that part of town at that time of night? Hopefully not. And what gives you the right to say that? Would you go up to an overweight girl and say, "You look fat." NO. Would you go up to a boy in a pink scarf and say, "You look gay." NO. Would you go up to someone with red eyes and a stupid grin and say, "You look high." MAYBE. But that's beside the point. Even if I was NAKED, no stranger has the right to come up to me and say, "You look naked." First of all, I think I would KNOW if I was had no clothes on. (Signs You're Naked: Breeze, people staring at your crotch and/or torso, your naked reflection in windows you pass by, squeals of delight if you're hot, screams of terror if you're not.) Second of all, if I want to be naked, let me be naked. Let me pull an Eve. And if you're an attractive guy, you're welcome to pull an Adam. It's in the Bible, which means it's okay, right? It's okay to be naked! Put THAT on a bumper sticker. (As long as you give me partial credit for it.) (Like for instance, you go to a party in your birthday suit, and someone of course will have the nerve to say, "Wow, you're really naked right now," and you can respond with, "Natasha Ferrier once told me it's okay to be naked." And they'll leave you the hell alone. And maybe they'll even join your new-found freedom. Or call the cops.)
"Hey this is my friend Mike."
I hate when people introduce me to random guys. It's so obvious. I don't NEED a boyfriend, people! It's called SELF-RELIANCE. Read some Emerson! Good god.
"He heard you were looking for business..."
This is what happens when you make up random lies in public places about being a 17-year-old prostitute in need of some dough. Why don't I EVER LEARN?!
"Oh! No, that's not me."
"Oh. But we heard..."
"It's that girl in the Abercrombie shirt and mini-skirt."
Little bitch, ain't I?